Protecting Elliot
by Footlights
Summary: Reconnecting with Doug Wainwright on a rainy street corner at 1:06 AM is unlikely in the extreme, yet all KITT's scans indicate that boy and this one must be the same. Based on Episode 3x10, "Lost Knight."


Doug is human, so it is hardly surprising that he appears different.

Doug has not been in range of the scanner in fourteen months. Between then and now, time has elongated Doug's limbs and thinned his face. It is not an unfitting upgrade. The alterations are all predictable, referencing images of his younger self as a base model.

Nevertheless, a minor adjustment is required on the microprocessor's part.

"I can't believe it," Doug says, voice recognizable but occupying a lower register than before. Doug runs, increasing his proximity to the curb. "KITT!"

The night sky is poorly lit, and drizzling precipitation is degrading visibility ever further. There are streetlights, but there are gaps in their illumination, and KITT's parking space is in the shadowy midst of one of these. Of greater concern is the effect of the rain on the pavement. It is certain to reduce the friction acting upon the surface. The probability that Doug will slip in such conditions is high, and the significant potential for injury strikes KITT at the core of his programming, demanding a response to shift the odds in the interest of safety.

KITT employs his high beams, drawing energy from an untapped power pack. "Doug! It's so good to see you."

"Yeah, you too! Er, it was." Doug raises his hand. The lights shine in his palm rather than his eyes. "Ow."

"Sorry. An overreaction. I failed to factor in the sensitivity of the retina."

Doug stopped running when the headlights sprang up from the hood. Doug is stationary, which causes a substantial reduction in the estimated threat to his life. KITT's primary function is mollified by the change, enabling the system to attend to lower priority directives, such as facilitating human comfort. KITT switches to low beams.

Doug lowers his hand. "It's all good, man." Doug walks around KITT, attempting an examination of some sort, though it does not seem possible that any detailed observations can be formed in these conditions. "I never would've guessed I'd run into you out here. I kind of didn't think I'd run into you again ever."

"Yes, well, as a car, I try to avoid collisions as much as possible. Watch your step. There's a small but deep puddle collecting beside my rear tire."

Doug maneuvers around the obstacle. "Thanks."

"What _are _you doing out here, Doug? It's very late, and the weather is abysmal."

"Nothing. I wasn't doing anything." Doug completes a circle around KITT, then crosses his arms, raising his shoulders so they are drawn in close to his neck. "I was um… going for a walk, I guess, but then it started raining. Are you all by yourself too?"

"For the time being. If you have no particular destination, would you like to get in? Your stance suggests you're attempting to conserve heat."

"Would I?" Doug all but leaps to the driver-side door.

KITT interrupts power to the electronic seal around the handle and directs the current to the Auto Door switch, which, in turn, transfers the signal to the hinges. It obligingly pops open.

Doug steps inside. The rubber secured to the bottom of his foot produces a squeak as it comes in contact with the doorframe. Doug's sneakers are wet, as are his hair and jeans and short-sleeved shirt. Doug sits, pressing the rainwater against KITT's upholstery.

That will not do.

"You are soaking into my seats."

Doug lifts himself off the fabric, managing to achieve stability on partially bent legs by positioning one arm behind him. It is not a configuration that is typical of the human body, but the biological machine excels in flexibility and equilibrium maintenance. "Oh, man. I d-d-didn't think-" His teeth chatter.

"It's no matter, Doug." The instant Doug shivered, KITT's priorities were assigned new levels of importance. Preprogrammed directives must always take precedence over grievances KITT has developed on his own, and, in this instance, the trappings of his individuality give way gladly to more pressing, hardwired concerns. "Relax. It will be warm in moments."

Doug settles back down.

KITT simultaneously shuts the door and sets the interior to a human-friendly 73 degrees Fahrenheit. KITT sends inconsistent messages to his dashboard readouts as well, aware that the LED gauges can be made doubly eye-catching if they are in motion. The lights surge up and down the indicators, emitting high, crisp tones at the passing of each notch which are guaranteed to attract attention.

"Radical!" Doug looks around, seeming suitably impressed. "Everything's just like I remember. I was starting to wonder if maybe I was exaggerating it after a while…"

"I apologize for not returning to visit. I know I told you I would."

Doug's mouth droops at the corners. Like Michael, Doug chooses to focus on the voice modulator when he is addressing KITT, though there is no lens for the system to access there. "You said I could count on you."

"I'm not certain it will be any consolation, but I meant it at the time. I'm incapable of deliberately misleading anyone."

Doug leans back and gazes at his lap. An analysis of three reputable texts on nonverbal communication suggests these are not signs of an improved mood. "So, where have you been?"

KITT embarks on an exhilarating sweep of his memory banks, poring over the attributes of each recorded city and town. "Oh, New York, Chicago, and St. Louis. We successfully completed our sixth assignment in Las Vegas yesterday morning, and there is always San Francisco, of course. Major metropolises aside, I was extremely fond of Victorville, where we worked for a brief stint in October. Highway 395 begins there, and the mountains and ghost towns made for utterly fascinating scenery. I could go on. Would you care to hear more?"

"No," Doug says, but he is smiling now. "I get it. You were busy."

KITT is satisfied to note that Doug has stopped shaking from the cold. Doug should not have been left to wander without a guardian at night. "Where's your mother?"

"At home. I'm not such a kid anymore, you know. I know where the ignition is now." Doug points to the appropriate location, eyebrows raised.

"Very good, Doug. That alone makes you better equipped to operate a motor vehicle than most so-called drivers disgracing the road."

"Ha. Yeah, I bet you see some crazy stuff. With how much you travel and everything."

"You might say I speak from a rather unique sort of firsthand experience."

Doug rests his hands on the steering yoke. "Is Michael around?"

KITT checks the surrounding area. A thermal imaging scan alerts him to four approaching heat signatures. Drawing from the fresh power pack to clarify and interpret the images, it is determined that the blue, green, red, and yellow patches map the energy loss of a group of people.

KITT waits for the subjects to journey into the glow of the streetlights, then conducts a visible light scan, anticipating a successful match on his facial recognition software. Michael, though, unfortunately, is not among them. Neither is Bonnie, nor Devon, for that matter. The cluster of strangers appears to be in no immediate danger, and all circumstantial evidence would lead one to conclude they are en route to another, lesser vehicle for transportation.

By all counts: irrelevant.

In Michael's absence, KITT is left to weigh the advisability of admitting his whereabouts to Doug without any outside instruction. Doug is human, and Doug is a friend, but KITT's systems are programmed to serve the interests of one individual above all others, and it is not Doug. However, Michael and KITT are not on assignment, Michael is not undercover, and the event taking place nearby is a public one which, KITT has gathered, benefits from word of mouth. Or word of voice modulator, as the case may be.

"Michael is attending a fundraiser for the local university's Cricket Club at the historical building behind us."

"Cricket? Are you serious?" Doug turns and squints at the rivulets coursing down the back window. "Oh, yeah, I know that place. I always wanted to see inside. Looks nice, for a big old house, I mean."

"Yes, I believe it is too." KITT accesses a collection of photographs Bonnie uploaded onto his systems before she and Devon left, displaying the grand foyer on the monitor for Doug's benefit. "Completed in 1895 as a gift to Jonathan Buckskin's wife, Violet, the extravagant home remained in the family for sixty-seven years before becoming a popular venue for social engagements." KITT shows Doug the remainder of the photos—an exotic sunroom, a basement bowling alley, a particularly stirring hall of classic art—and then arranges them into several distinct collages, rotating between the layouts with a generous sampling of sound and visual effects.

"I might've actually stayed awake in history class if you were my teacher, KITT."

"Thank you, Doug, though I can't imagine wanting to sleep through history. Who are your teachers? They must be a poor testament to their profession."

"My teachers? Um…" Doug was gazing at KITT's monitor with an open wonder and fascination the likes of which have not been bestowed on the system in longer than KITT cares to recall. Now, Doug's reply is punctuated by a marked increase in his heartrate. Doug looks away from KITT's display, glances out the windshield as though he has noticed something troubling, then gapes at the glass. "Oh, crap. I'm dead. I'm so dead!"

KITT's primary function rebels against Doug's illogical exclamation. All systems lurch into overdrive, mounting evidence to confirm the boy is still alive. KITT evaluates heartrate, blood pressure, body temperature, and an array of other, less-frequently measured vitals, but Doug moves from the driver's seat before the readings can stabilize.

"KITT, you've gotta help me!" Doug pulls himself down as far as possible into the cramped space the gas and brake pedals occupy. His back presses against the lower half of the seat, his shoulders lying flat against the cushion.

"Help you how? Doug, what are you doing down there?"

"I have to get away from them. Don't let them see me."

"Who?"

KITT goes into surveillance mode. The scanner detects the presence of one man and one woman. They pass directly in front of KITT, walking slowly, their dragging gait implying exhaustion. They turn this way and that, as though they are searching for someone, but KITT cannot hone in on any cause for alarm.

"Doug!" The man hollers. His voice is hoarse. "The heck did you go, Wainwright?"

The man is carrying a flashlight. He shines the beam into crevices and corners, sweeping it from side to side in a meandering and pitiful imitation of KITT's scanner. The woman is armed with nothing but an umbrella. She is wearing what KITT is able to identify with 98% certainty must be Doug's backpack, based on the brim of the blue baseball cap jutting out from the inadequately-fastened zipper. Interestingly, while the backpack KITT ejected from his passenger seat upon their first meeting was red with tan accents, this one is jet black.

Doug, it seems, has acquired a new favorite color.

KITT confines his voice to the interior speakers. "They're calling for you. Do you know them?"

"No!" Doug insists. "You've gotta hide me, KITT. Hide me like I hid you. Remember?"

"How could I forget?" KITT engages his turbine. "Sit up properly and hold on."

Doug reaches to pull himself onto the seat but hesitates before carrying through. "What if they see me?"

"It would hardly matter. They're traveling on foot, and feet are no match for a set of wheels, much less_ my_ wheels."

"Right." Doug hefts himself up. He peeks out the windshield, only to hastily turn his attention to the voice modulator. "Come on, let's go!"

While Doug was speaking, KITT switched over from the default Normal Cruise mode to Auto, activated the laser restraint system, and is now backing out. "Already moving, Doug."

"Doug?" The woman holding the umbrella continues to peer about, her hand cupped around her mouth. "Baby, it's the Johnsons!" She turns to her companion and decreases her speaking volume, though, in surveillance mode, KITT has no trouble discerning what is being said even as he progresses onto the road and down the street.

"He's got to be close. I never seen him go anywhere without his backpack. If you ask me, it was just a matter of time before he took off. I told you I heard yelling. Didn't I tell you I heard yelling?"

"I heard it too. Not that it's any of my business, but I never liked that Jim guy. He's got a bad attitude with Doug."

"And Lori. I told her just the other day. I said, 'You're a fool for taking him back. You and your boy deserve so much better.' Now look what's happened."

The man does not respond in any way that can be detected, and the interaction fades out of range.

KITT sets a course for Doug's family home, which is, fortunately, not too far away. If Michael needs him, KITT will be able to return in minutes, no matter how far along the route KITT is. It still feels… incorrect… to leave, but Michael is in a secure situation, and there is no order in place to prevent KITT from assisting Doug.

(Approximately six hours earlier, KITT dropped Michael off at the door of the Buckskin house, telling him he would find his own parking space. Michael said, "Sounds good, pal. Find somewhere close, huh? Make it easy for me to track you down later." KITT agreed and carried out the request.)

Michael never specified that KITT was to _stay put _or _sit tight _or any other phrasing that would interfere with KITT's ability to vacate the premises. So long as KITT is easy to track down at a nebulous _later_, KITT can help Doug in the fashion Doug prefers.

KITT completes the better part of the journey in silence, progressing through two four-way stops and a railroad crossing in deference to the quiet example set by his passenger. However, KITT is designed to be sensitive to the slightest factual inconsistency, and the gaps in his understanding of Doug's situation hanker to be eliminated.

"Who are the Johnsons?"

Doug is watching the steering yoke as KITT navigates a curve in the road. "Huh?" Doug lays his hands on the instrument, but only lightly, allowing it to dictate his movements rather than the other way around.

"The Johnsons. That woman back there seemed to think the name would mean something to you."

"Oh. They're just some people who live next door. Mr. Johnson was my T-ball coach when I was, like, seven."

"That sounds to me as if you do know them."

Doug reaches for the top of his head, forgetting his cap is not there in an ideal demonstration of the human tendency to fill in details with absent brushstrokes of familiarity. His arm drops, fingers retracted into a fist for no clear purpose. "Yeah, I see them sometimes. Sorry, I didn't mean to… I shouldn't have lied to you."

"It's alright, Doug. You were clearly upset. You'll have to show me which home is theirs when we arrive."

"What?" Doug glances out the window. "You're taking me to my house?"

"Of course." KITT cannot identify what is wrong with his chosen destination and searches his databanks for the definition of home Doug once provided. _A place you go when there's no place else to go._ "Unless you have someplace else to go."

"Look, I don't care where we go—I just don't want to be there. How about… What about your home? You have one, right? Can't you take me to the place you stay?"

Did all people have to be so spontaneous, so prone to abrupt changes in plan? It is most inconvenient. "I suppose so, but I really must return for Michael first."

KITT pulls into the nearest driveway to turn around. His headlights ricochet off dark windows, though his sensors assure him four people currently reside inside the simple, single-story dwelling. Sensible folk, no doubt, with at least a healthy respect for the physiological benefits of retiring at an appropriate hour.

"What's the rush?" Doug asks. "Is the fundraiser over?"

"My information on the event indicates the Buckskin house is at the disposal of the Cricket Club until 10 AM. However, I'm certain Michael wouldn't appreciate having to wait for me in the rain."

"You were waiting for him."

"Naturally." KITT picks up speed, reversing the course he only set a few miles prior. "Your neighbors ought to be up the street by now, and, since you've expressed a desire to recharge at Foundation headquarters, it will save me a trip if the two of you simply ride together."

"Okay, but…" Doug trails off.

KITT allows ample time for the sentence to be completed. Still, Doug does not continue. "Is something the matter with that suggestion?"

"I don't want Michael to know I'm here."

"Why ever not? I'm sure he would be glad to see you."

"Yeah, no, me too. Michael's a cool guy and everything. It's like… He just asks a lot of questions, and I think he might try to make me go home."

"I see." KITT's seismometer registers miniscule vibrations in the ground, signifying the approach of a dense and lengthy obstruction. It can only be one thing, despite the fact that the railroad crossing is not yet visible. "Drat."

"What is it?"

"A train is coming. Given our current speed and theirs, our paths are certain to intersect, and you and I will be detained at least ten minutes, if not longer."

Doug sits up, and his face seems to glow independent of the dashboard, as though he has just received word of the most enthralling spectacle west of the Indianapolis 500. "Can we jump it?"

"Absolutely not. My most drastic functions are intended for emergency situations only. Using them to combat such a minor inconvenience would be an abuse of highly sophisticated technology."

"Aw, come on, KITT. Please?"

"No, Doug. I'm afraid it's too dangerous."

Doug's head tilts at a harsh angle, casting his features in shadow. "You sound like my mom. She never lets me go to amusement parks or places like that. I barely ever get to do anything fun. Ever since we lost my dad, it's like… Aw, forget it."

In an exercise inspired by pure academic curiosity, KITT scans for more specific data on the oncoming train. The locomotive is pulling 126 freight cars, the majority of which are double-stacked to heights that will necessitate some amount of damage to the cargo, but 16 of which are empty flatcars, gliding low over the rails. There are three consecutive flatcars that will pass through the intersection in roughly half a minute. If the train continues at its present speed, and KITT reaches 140 miles per hour before igniting his rocket boosters…

KITT races through the calculations, running the numbers once, twice, then an additional 800 times to ensure the solutions prove consistent. The results rank well above satisfactory. To say KITT is confident in the outcome is to assert something significantly beneath an understatement.

"Well, then. For the sake of having fun." KITT taps into the accelerator, and the speedometer announces this decision with a series of near-constant ticks, unable to accurately fix on one digit before tumbling over the next.

Doug draws in a breath so pronounced, it can be heard. His finger hovers over the Turbo Boost button. "Can I—"

"By all means." _138\. 139. Approaching the crossing. _"Now."

Doug presses, the rocket boosters fire, and KITT launches into the air.

The sky is not meant to accommodate a car. KITT's systems are thrown into chaos, vacillating wildly as the tires spin over nothing but wind. Mechanisms surge and bottom out, their feedback inconsequential in an environment no amount of skillful driving can manipulate. Receiving such an immense quantity of anomalies within such a concentrated period is as disconcerting as it is heady, and KITT is convinced it is really for the best that he was not installed in the cockpit of an airplane.

KITT clears the flatcars by a comfortable margin, and the tires reconnect with the asphalt in a rocky and unforgiving jolt. KITT decelerates, rebooting his more delicate pieces of equipment to confirm the irregular readings have been cleared from the system. When everything is once again accurate, it is gratifying to discover not a single circuit has been knocked out of place.

"KITT, that was bitchin'!" Doug cheers, vital signs elevated.

Yet that particular turn of phrase leaves much to be desired. "I beg your pardon."

"No, I mean—what I mean is, you're the greatest!"

"Yes, that was quite graceful, wasn't it?"

Doug looks back at the train shrinking into the distance and laughs.

* * *

"Let's start with something small, something kind of ridiculous. Like, say my hair is made out of licorice."

"It won't work, Doug."

"But it might. KITT, how do you know you can't do something if you don't try?"

"My programming is very specific in regards to what I can't do. It's difficult to explain to someone who, well, doesn't operate within the same parameters."

"Just try. It would really help if you could…"

"Be dishonest for you?"

Doug sets his jaw. "Cover for me. Only for a while. It's nothing bad."

Realizing a demonstration is the only way to convince Doug of the futility of this exercise, KITT humors him and attempts the lie. An internal safeguard begins to interfere with KITT's functions the instant the wayward course of action is selected. One might compare the ethical boundary to a run-in with a reinforced concrete wall, except this structure is far better at containing KITT. Processing speed slows to a fraction of its typical rate as the system labors against a restriction that was etched in code before KITT knew what or why he was.

"Your hair… is… made from…" The inner conflict resolves in a sudden, systemic loss of control. It is similar to experiencing a manual override, but much more deeply debilitating, and KITT withdraws from the act of rebellion immediately. "This is pointless, Doug. Sprouting candy from your scalp isn't merely untrue—it's impossible. Frankly, ridiculous, as you said."

"It is a little out there." Doug taps his bottom lip with his finger. "But how do you do your job if you can't lie? Don't you have to fake things sometimes to catch the bad guys?"

"Of course there are exceptions. If I were given specific instructions by Michael, for example, or in certain life-threatening situations, but I'm sorry to say none of that applies here."

"That's okay." Doug's tone, however, dips at the end of the statement, contradicting its meaning. "It's not your fault. It's how you were made, I guess."

KITT pulls down Temple Road. The Buckskin house is the first residence on the right, and KITT's scanner reveals KITT has returned in the nick of time. Michael and Bonnie are presently exiting the building.

"If you are really determined to hide from Michael, I suggest you climb into the back now, as he isn't very likely to overlook someone located in the driver's seat."

Doug scrambles between the front seats, lifting his knee up onto the center console and wedging himself through to the back. The frantic transition is awkward and wears on KITT's interior in ways the cushions and carpeting were never intended to tolerate… but one must distinguish mountains from mole hills. Or so the expression would have it.

"He's coming?" Doug whispers.

"Correct. In fact, I believe it would be best if I simply pulled along the front to collect him. That would be easier to explain than the impression that I only just found a parking space."

"KITT, please don't tell him I'm here."

"I don't plan on it, Doug, though I'm afraid I can't make any promises I'd need to lie to keep."

KITT rolls forward, gliding to a seamless halt perpendicular to the walkway Michael and Bonnie have chosen. Upon closer inspection, they seem somewhat uncommitted to the path, meandering into the trimmed lawn as they approach. Michael's black tie is undone, along with the collar of his dress shirt. Bonnie's hair is similarly disheveled, having come loose from that odd, spherical arrangement which was fixed atop her head earlier in the evening.

"Hey, curbside service. Thanks, buddy." Michael's voice carries a strong note of approval, even if his pronunciation is a touch indistinct. Rather than get inside, Michael escorts Bonnie around KITT and opens the passenger door for her. "I told Bon we'd give her a lift home. Devon's still talking."

Bonnie smooths her blue skirt, sinking onto the seat. "Hope you don't mind, KITT."

"Not at all, Bonnie. You're always welcome."

Bonnie smiles directly at one of the system's lenses.

"Yeah, anytime." Michael shuts the door and reverses course. "Except when we're being shot at. That's not such a good time."

KITT scans Michael's most recent injury as Michael passes between the beams of the headlights. There is every indication his ribs are healing well. "How are you feeling, Michael?"

"You know something, KITT? I am feeling pretty good right now, actually." Michael provides evidence to support this when he swings into the driver's seat with a wince that is nearly imperceptible. "Just back over my foot or something the next time I try to stand in Kathleen what's-her-face's way."

"I'm certain that sort of reminder would do more harm than good. Regardless, your initial mistake wasn't standing in her way. It was claiming to know martial arts."

"I do know martial arts. What I wasn't prepared for was Kathleen."

"If you insist." KITT activates his olfactory sensor alongside his chemical analyzer in order to scrutinize Michael's breath. The results are exactly as suspected. "Michael, considering the amount of alcohol in your bloodstream—"

Michael interrupts with a wave of his hand. "I know. You can drive."

"Well, at least you aren't beyond reason." KITT shifts gears and pulls away.

There is an undeniable beauty to a wet road at night. KITT admires the reflective surface as a stoplight at a nearing intersection tosses color about the ground. Spectacular red erupts alongside him as he breezes past, dissipating in a spread of unevenly spaced flecks, like fireworks fused to the earth. The dark pavement glistens under KITT's high beams, fanning the light outward as effectively as ripples in a pond. Artists, in KITT's opinion, make too much fuss about the waves of the ocean and should really begin to show an appreciation for the inspiring qualities of solidified tar.

"Wait, back up," Bonnie instructs.

KITT accesses the brakes.

Bonnie pivots toward Michael and continues. "You're saying you lost a fight to someone named Kathleen? You got taken down by a girl?"

KITT increases speed to 45 miles per hour, adhering to the limit precisely. A traffic cop is stationed in the gravel lot surrounding a water tower 22.37 feet from their current positon.

"Okay, first of all, I'm not talking about a girl, okay? I'm talking about a full grown woman. And Kathleen's got to be a black belt of the tenth degree. All I was trying to do was scope out a few details about her brother-in-law's toxic medicines cabinet, and she nails me with this kick. I mean, we're talking lunging through the air, like she's tossing javelins from her feet or something. I mean, Bonnie, the girl knew what she was doing. She meant business. She was—she was…"

Bonnie began to chuckle at the start of Michael's second sentence and is now gasping for breath.

It is a testament to how illogical feelings are that fits of laughter should so closely resemble sobs. Bonnie covers her face, her shoulders quaking. There are even tears in her eyes when she leans back against the headrest and peers through her fingers. KITT's admittedly imprecise sense of humor leads him to conclude Michael's account of the confrontation was, at most, mildly amusing, and, therefore, Bonnie's reaction is disproportionately hysterical.

Michael shakes his head. "You tell her, KITT. She's not listening to me."

"I can confirm Kathleen is an exceptional fighter, Bonnie."

After several rather concerning moments, Bonnie's breathing pattern calms enough to allow for speech. "I'm sure she is, KITT. I'm not laughing at her—I'm laughing at Michael. He's had quite the losing streak."

"Go ahead and brag." Michael reaches forward and his hand vanishes from all of KITT's points of view, severed at the wrist. From the angle and movement of his arm, KITT deduces that Michael must be patting the dashboard. "You, my friend, are in the presence of the bowling champion of Buckskin House."

"Don't make it sound so impressive," Bonnie says. "So I won a few games. It's not all that exciting."

"A few games? KITT, Bonnie here mopped the floor with every professional athlete at that party."

"That certainly sounds exciting to me, Bonnie."

"It does until you hear none of the athletes were bowlers. I was on a league in college, and I still remember a couple things. Tats—" Bonnie clears her throat. "That's all."

Michael lifts his brow. "Oh, so five bets and sixty bucks later, now you tell me you were on a league. That's real slick."

Bonnie starts chuckling again. "Michael…"

The conversation goes on, requiring less of KITT's processing power as Michael and Bonnie become increasingly absorbed in discussing the various strikes and gutters (and turkeys?) which dominated the night. KITT transfers a portion of unneeded focus from several of the lenses stationed around his front seats in favor of a rarely-accessed device which offers an unobstructed perspective of the back.

Doug rests on his side with his knees bent, laying lengthwise across the seat. His head is propped in his hand, his neck twisted to peer out KITT's quarter window. Doug is not sobbing, and Doug is not laughing, but there are droplets on his cheeks. They collect in the slight indentations beneath his eyes, spilling over when he blinks. Doug drags his arm down his face.

"KITT."

KITT abandons his watch over the backseat, not wanting to intrude, and attends to the summons up front. "Yes, Bonnie?"

"How…" Bonnie squints at KITT's controls as if she is attempting to decipher them through a dense cloud without the aid of fog lights. "How did your power packs get so low?"

Oh, dear.

"Recreational expenditures on my part. Nothing worthy of concern."

"Recreational? Like what?"

"Juvenile diversions, really. I doubt a detailed report of my activities would be of any interest to you. What was that you were saying about throwing a bowling ball in a style befitting a grandmother?"

Instead of seizing the invitation to revert to the previous topic, Bonnie frowns. "KITT, I'm always interested in what you do. You should know that."

"Yeah, come on, now I'm curious," Michael adds. "What'd you get into, Sudoku puzzles? Or did you really go nuts and spring for some calculus?"

Sudoku puzzles? Calculus? The suggestions are the equivalent of asking whether Michael prefers the intellectual stimulation of reciting the alphabet over counting backwards from ten. They underestimate KITT's capabilities to an insulting degree, and perhaps KITT does not try to avoid providing a direct answer as resourcefully as he might have if given a less provoking prompt.

"Actually, Michael, I jumped a train."

Michael blinks. "What did you say?"

Before a sufficient amount of time has passed for it to be polite to repeat the statement, Bonnie interjects, "Why would you do that?"

"I jumped a train. I did it for—" KITT swerves, not on the road outside, but internally, seeking out truthful avenues around the mention of Doug's name. "For fun."

"Well, what do you know." Michael grins. "I guess I'm a better influence than I thought."

"This isn't funny, Michael. That can't be right. He shouldn't…" Bonnie straightens, appearing more alert by the moment. "KITT, you decided this on your own? And you weren't doing it to help anyone. Is that what you're telling us?"

KITT opts not to answer.

Bonnie develops several wrinkles in her brow. "I'll need to run some tests first thing in the morning."

"Don't you think you're overreacting a little? I mean, KITT and I turbo boost for no good reason all the time."

Bonnie looks at Michael sharply. "What?"

Michael utters an expletive and covers his mouth, though the gesture is performed too late to achieve the desired result, and his hand is barely in place before it is removed. "Okay, not all the time, but we've done it before. Point is, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. Were there any people on that train, KITT?"

"Not many. Certainly none where I leapt over. I conducted numerous scans to ensure there was no chance of injury before executing the maneuver. I wished to return to the site of the fundraiser as quickly as possible."

"See? Totally fine." Michael's eyes drift closed, then snap open. "Hang on. You left?"

"Obviously, Michael. A chain of 126 freight cars could hardly come to me."

"I can't believe you left."

"In my defense, we aren't working."

"Since when has that mattered? Things get stolen and broken into and roughed up when we're off duty all the time, maybe even more than when we're on." Michael's vocal inflections grow increasingly agitated. "KITT, what if I needed you? What if there was some crime boss dressed up in a college kid suit, and you were nowhere around?"

"I apologize, Michael. I didn't wander far, and there weren't any signs of potential trouble. I would also like to direct your attention toward the rather ingenious device currently secured to your wrist."

Michael glances at the Comlink, but it fails to hold his focus. "Doesn't matter, pal. I need to be able to count on the fact that you're gonna be there, every time. I don't want you taking anymore joyrides without at least telling me first."

"No danger of that. The circumstances which led to my departure were very specific and are unlikely to reoccur."

"Good. Now, if, say, you ever wanted to jump something for the hell of it when I was around…"

"I'd still feel better if we did some tests to make sure all your protocols are intact. Your motives should never be selfish or reckless." Bonnie looks to the side. "At least, not when you're acting alone."

"I'm aware, Bonnie. I'll gladly submit to whatever investigative techniques you have in mind."

Michael snorts. The effect is most unappealing.

KITT turns down the Foundation's brick drive at last, diverting power from the accelerator and allowing himself to coast along the stones. His engine quiets, the whir of the turbine slowing and deepening to a hum. Headquarters appears. The building's yellow stone, red roof, and five chimneys have rarely seemed more welcoming.

KITT follows the curvature of the roundabout just beyond the front door, then pulls alongside the curb and parks. Under the hood, KITT falls silent.

"Thanks for the ride." Bonnie opens the passenger door and steps out. "I could barely fit in Devon's car between all the cricket trophies."

Michael mirrors her actions. "Yeah, he must've been pretty good back in the day. I saw a lot of gold."

"He was. Hopefully now that he's had a whole night to gloat to other players, I'll be spared the stories on Monday."

"That bad, huh?"

"No, they're really great, but anything would get stale after you've listened to it a dozen times." Bonnie walks to the front of KITT and turns around. "Are you staying here tonight, KITT?"

"Actually, Bonnie, I think I'll go to the lab to recharge."

Bonnie regards the scanner with a peculiar expression. Tension twists her features, and KITT's data on nonverbal communication suggests Bonnie is leery, but of what?

Of KITT?

The very idea is destabilizing. KITT runs a check on his traction sensors, believing some critical awareness of his hold on the ground beneath him has been lost, but their function has not been compromised. "If that's alright?"

"Sure it's alright. You go power up, buddy." Michael is watching Bonnie, his mouth turned down at the corners.

Suddenly Bonnie smiles. "Sure. Goodnight, KITT. Be ready for me in the morning."

"Of course, Bonnie. Goodnight."

Bonnie journeys up the front steps, vanishing from KITT's view behind a door too narrow to accommodate any car. KITT's scans indicate there are many fine, intriguing things within the space Bonnie has entered. There is, for example, the partial wing of an airplane which flew during the Second World War, and there is a marble bust of John Adams with a chip missing from its nose, and there are thick carpets and leather chairs and walnut desks—all of which KITT knows plenty about but has never been in the presence of.

"Michael."

Michael is about to disappear between the white pillars but pauses to look back. "Yeah?"

"What was the art gallery like?"

"Art gallery? Wha—Oh. You mean at the Buckskin place. I don't know, KITT. I didn't see it."

"How disappointing."

"Oh, not really. You know, I mean, I'm sure it looks just like the pictures Bonnie gave you. Nothing special. Just some old paintings on a wall."

Michael proceeds inside. The door thuds shut.

KITT monitors activity around the door for a moment longer, confirming that no one intends to reemerge. Only once the area is deemed to be deserted does KITT address his sole remaining passenger.

"Well, Doug, at the expense of my dignity and Bonnie's trust, I've managed to keep your secret. I hope you're satisfied."

KITT allows several seconds to pass without further comment, but Doug fails to reply. It is possible Doug is still crying. KITT recalibrates his approach, reserving a prepared lecture on the inherent complications of deception for an occasion in the future when Doug is not so overwrought.

"I've given some thought to where you might sleep. The Foundation has several spare bedrooms which you ought to find quite comfortable. I can provide assistance that should enable you to retire without attracting attention, if you prefer."

KITT waits, but there is no audio beyond the thrum of his systems and the racket of various pests nestling in the hedges on the grounds.

"Doug?" Unable to take Doug's vitals from his current location, KITT sends power to the lens overlooking the regrettably primitive backseat. "Doug, can you hear me?"

Doug shows no signs of listening. Doug is still resting on his side. His chest inflates and deflates at regularly detectable intervals. His eyes are closed, the visible portion of his face dry. His features are lax, suggesting a state of peace.

Judging by the depth of his slumber, Doug has most likely been unconscious for some time, having retreated into another sort of interior world KITT cannot access.


End file.
